


Among the ruins

by Yoruhime



Category: Prototype (Video Games)
Genre: BAMF Cross, BAMF Mercer, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross' imaginary squad, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, and it shows, they're both monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 13:20:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17060540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoruhime/pseuds/Yoruhime
Summary: In the infested ruins of a city, two men realize that they may not have a choice : the only chance to save Manhattan is an wary truce between sworn ennemies, and quite a few bloody decisions besisdes.But now again, neither Captain Robert Cross or Alex Mercer have ever been afraid of taking ruthless measures.





	Among the ruins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hyliian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyliian/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Consuming Direct Control, Redux](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15879081) by [Hyliian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyliian/pseuds/Hyliian). 



> Fix-it, in a way, of _Prototype_ \- because I just re-lauched it, and I was hit all over again at how Cross' fate irked me to no end. He deserved better. This is the human who went one-to-one with _Alex Mercer._  
>  Not to mention the damn potential of the twist of the indic revelation ! And Alex Mercer himself, who was given all the depth of a blank wall... I love the feeling of utter power of this game, its combat and movements mechanics, but the story makes me despair each time I play it again.
> 
> So this is me, trying to give both characters their due.  
> (On another note, it's been a while since I've written in english, so please forgive any mistakes.)

 

Captain Robert Cross had never believed in sugarcoating things.

Even if he had, Blackwatch would have set that straight, mainly because there was no sugarcoating the wars Blackwatch won : they were a necessary evil, but Cross did not delude himself one second in seeing bloodbaths like this as heroic.

And all the same, refusing to acknowledge the truth was utterly moronic, and the truth was his men had failed. They were getting their asses kicked into next Sunday on all sides, from Mercer to Greene ; and both were… adapting at neck-breaking speed. The infected – whatever the side concerned – were simply too resilient. They couldn’t keep up.

So it was time to cut lose, one way or another.

“You’re not human. You’re the Blacklight virus.” (Mercer stayed silent, but he hadn’t expected anything else : the man wasn’t so easy to make stumble. Far too brutal, too resilient. No, it would take time.) “Blackwatch is planning to deploy a weapon gaz using aircraft. Get to the station on top of Highlines building. You’ll find what you need there.”

_And so will I._

Half an hour later, the news fell in his radio.

“ _Bloodtox effectiveness has been confirmed. Begin deployment immediately !”_ And then, half a beat later : “ _ZEUS has escaped despite inhaling the toxin. We lost him, sir.”_

Cross stared at the red sky, peeking to a bloody hue through the blinds : the room was plunged in shadows. It was black here, black enough that the clusterfuck of a bloodbath outside seemed almost surreal.

The Captain clicked the voice changer off, and tossed the phone on the hard, skeletal couch before putting two bullets in it. The gun was nondescript, taken from the dumbest moronic black market seller this side of Manhattan – who would never have the ever-too-rare occasion to rat him out. The man slipped the unmarked weapon in his boot sheath, briefly touched the second firearm at his thigh – this one army regulation – and stepped back into the street.

The broken phone ended in a torn trashcan. Cross whirled round almost at the same time, viper-sharp.

The bullet went right through the head of the walker pouncing on him. The Captain neatly sidestepped the still-twitching body, whipping out his combat knife to bury it to the guard in the eye of the second walker who had just landed behind the first ; the nuzzle of the gun pressed up against the back of the neck and blew out the brains of the thing.

Cross’ wrist snapped to the side as one last, burly walker bounded up. Fast despite his seize, too big and muscular for the knife : the captain dived to the right, the baton connecting with the back of the infected’s knee. The hiss and fizz of ozone erupted in the stale air, a second before the beast grunted and stumbled. The second blow took it across the cheek and then Cross was angling up, burning the right red eye to a scorched mess : this time it howled, shaking with the force of the current eating its way to the infected’s brain. The bullet blew up the knee.

The second one hit as the walker crashed on the ground and tore into the left eye to the back of the head.

Cross calmly wiped his knife on a scrap of clothing, and turned heels towards Redcrown Command. 

**

The coughing racked up his chest like a living fire.

The pain was sharp and sudden, more biting than anything he had felt since waking – more biting than the cure, even. It made his glide veer off to free fall. Alex hissed a curse as he hit the ground of the military base, rolled away from the fly of bullets behind a crate, still coughing. Deep, rasping.

He was out of breath, lungs seized by an invisible fist : he could feel his appearance slipping, the biomass writhing on his arms and shoulders. His claws were half retracting before appearing again, flickering without control.

A soldier shoot at him from above, and Alex moved before thinking, leaping up as high as possible : his foot connected with a sickening crack, and the soldier crashed into the wall in a throat-less heap. Mercer let the flow of his attack guide him, whirling round against the concrete to push toward the last goon on higher ground.

His foot left a labyrinth of cracks as he propelled forward. Too hard, too fast. He hadn’t meant to launch himself in such a brutal manner : it felt more like an airdash than a glide.

If Alex hadn’t had so many near misses – and more than a few as much not-so-near as literal buildings in the face in the beginning – he would have slammed into the opposite wall rather than the soldier. He corrected at the last second, crushing the sternum through the metal of the bazooka the man had raised in a pathetic shield.

He retreated out of view to take a shuddering breath. The shape shifting was out of his reach : hard to take the face of a Blackwatch elite when tendrils of biomass erupted in tentacled chaos over his body ; and frankly, he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to truly change. He felt… stuck, somehow, in his primal shape. Only sheer instinct made him snap a whipfist to the left, tearing off the head of the enemy coming up the metallic stairs.

“Son of a bitch,” Alex spat.

He took four running paces and charge-jumped on the opposite side of the base, hitting the ground with enough strength to leave an impact : the force of his landing made the assault rifle at his left rise in the air, and he caught it in one swift movement. Mercer had consumed more than his fair share of weapon officers : the burst of fire took out six soldiers grouped toward the base of the stairs. The last three barely had the time to realize how utterly fucked they were before he pounced and consumed one, then the other – both marines.

The last one was Blackwatch, and he forced himself to stay in the soldier’s shape. It was a little bit easier, now : the air was saturated with gunpowder and the odor of blood, chasing the last dregs of the Bloodtox fumes. The coughing had finally subsided, leaving only the burning ache, expended from his lungs to his whole body. Alex brushed his own face, brought his fingers moist with bad sweat on too cold skin.

He swore, but forced himself to leave the base before his disguise slipped. Outside, most of the soldiers rushed in the base he had just left, and the rest was securing access with the help of two tanks : one pasty later to throw confusion in, and Alex bounded up to the roof with none the wiser.

His shape broke without warning in a sudden fit of pain : he hit the roof in a jarring roll and reacted on mere instinct when the soldier on watch turned, alarmed. He lunged, garbing the man by the throat and consuming him messily. The hunger burned in the pit of his stomach like it hadn’t since his waking up in the morgue, disoriented and weak. The control, the balance, the _power_ he had found, almost destroyed by a fucking toxin – a trap he had jumped in, because… because the indic’s revelations had shaken him to the point he had barely thought it through.

He had wanted McMullen. A lead, any lead. Wanted to devour him to know the truth. To know _if_ it was the truth, he mentally corrected himself. For all he knew, the indic on the phone had simply wanted a psychological hit on him before snapping the trap shut – and Alex was forced to admit he had run headfirst right into it. Like a fucking moron.

He had his suspicions about the person who had played him like a fiddle : after all, out of all his enemies, the marines didn’t matter, and Greene had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, Dana’s kidnapping the last example. She wanted his skin, but sending him into a building full of Bloodtox, and having the spy to do it ? No. The more primal infected didn’t shape-change anyway, and Greene herself – if she could on the Redlight strain – had never showed any inclination to it.

Which left his real, other, most dangerous enemy : the Blackwatch. And the one man who had showed the guts to face off against him, before manipulating a weakness to drag a win out of his defeat and inject him with the cure.

Fucking Captain Robert Cross.

He bared his teeth in a silent snarl, and disgustedly ditched the soldier’s appearance for his own : the pain subsided once more. Alex took a deep breath of the cold air, and launched himself in the night sky.

**

The command center was a whirlwind of muttering and roared orders about Bloodtox and ZEUS and planning the toxin’s spreading.

Randall had, of course, snarled about “it” not only escaping, but finding out about the gaz – he was furious about the mole, but had concluded it wasn’t the time for a witch hunt. No, it was a moment for action. Striking deep and fast, spreading the toxin before ZEUS tried to stop it, of worse, warned MOTHER.

Cross had serious doubts about the latter option : his men had sent numerous reports about the enormous Hunter seen across the city with a human hostage, and Mercer on an enraged chase right on its heels. The marines had fucked it up by attacking ZEUS before he could have it out with what they had called a Leader Hunter – with luck, they could have torn apart the weakened victor and got rid of one, at least for a while.

Now, he surmised, since one of the biggest Hunter under Greene’s command hadn’t been seen again, and considering how hot and furious Mercer had been on his pursuit, it wasn’t impossible that _he_ had killed the infected, in the end.

Anyways, Cross did not consider ZEUS and MOTHER as on the same side. Dangerous in different ways, both enemies of Blackwatch, without a doubt. But Mercer killed equally the infected or the military, depending on whom was attacking him at the time.

No, if Cross had to guess, Mercer was on no-one’s side but his own – that was the reason the Captain had contacted him, sent him into a meting riddled with Bloodtox. It was a test both for the toxin and Mercer : if he was killed, it was one hell of a thorn out of their side, and dealing with the infected – mostly stupid except for Greene – with the help of Bloodtox became doable.

Now, ZEUS surviving through the ambush was more complicated, but not necessarily bad. He still had the anonymity of their connection : if he could persuade Mercer to strike MOTHER itself with the Bloodtox rather than simply spreading it blindly across the city… Randall would never admit it, but Mercer was more than simply “the enemy”, at least now. He was a chance, maybe their last, to destroy the infection without striking Manhattan.

Cross wasn’t afraid of nuking the city if it was what it took. But doing it when there still was another option was both a coward’s decision and a disgusting one.

With that one order carefully starting to be set in place in secret, the Lieutenant General had lost Cross’ respect – and he was Blackwatch. His mission wasn’t to obey a terrified, angry fool, but to eradicate this infection by all means. He would nuke the city himself if it came to it.

But, Cross decided while leaving command behind him at sharp pace, it wasn’t the moment yet. He would recontact Mercer – in person, this time – and propose his plan. It wasn’t time to play hide and seek anymore. If the man, if Blacklight, was half of what Cross had glimpsed during these eleven days of horror, then they still had a chance.

And damn him if he didn’t cling to it teeth and nails instead of choosing a fucking _nuke_.

“Bishop in. We’we spotted ZEUS.”

Cross stopped briefly, before turning at brisk pace in a side street.

“Do not engage,” he snapped, because it was going to be delicate enough to discuss with Mercer without having to deal with him fresh out of a battle and certain Blackwatch was out for his blood. “Give me the coordinates.”

He doubted the other man would still be here, even if he arrived on the position by combat helicopter, but it was worth a shoot. They didn’t have time, not with Randall fucking everything inside and out : the spreading of Bloodtox gave them one day, maybe two at best, but the Lieutenant-general was so twitchy he could crack and decide to blow Manhattan sky-high with barely a warning – and the few civilian victims left, without mention of their own men, didn’t seem to concern him.

Cross admitted freely as to being a bastard – he was Blackwatch, not a social worker – but he was also loyal to his own, and to his creed. They were the last line. And they’d fought to the trice-damned end to hold it.

“Rabid, I want an helico asap to the roof of my current position,” Cross ordered while crashing his paramilitary boot into the already splintered door of the building. “Rook, if Randall asks, I’m on a lead about ZEUS, and that’s all you know.”

One could say a lot about Blackwatch, but his unit was in tighter ranks than most, and Cross’ own commando was his, utterly. Between him and the Lieutenant-general, Rook didn’t even pause.

“Yes, sir.”

Faust was in the helico, but simply saluted his comrade and superior with a nod. Rabid didn’t comment either, not about the coordinates nor on the fact that Cross was going out on enemy position alone. He simply said that he’d stay in an aerial perimeter of ETA ten minutes at worst ; the Captain’s lips twitched as he jumped out and took his fall in a roll. A raised fist sent his men back, near silent into the chaos of the infected streets and the nest near them.

As usual, Mercer had been spotted on a rooftop : he rarely descended in the streets, the Captain had noted, probably to spare himself the walkers and the human crowds. If he had been capable of jumping and flying to such heights, Cross was pretty sure he wouldn’t be seen down that often either.

Fuck his own traitorous thoughts, but there was times when he was close to jealousy about Mercer, despite the pity he’d professed so coldly after their battle. The man was pure mass destruction and raw power coiled in one person – or human-shaped thing, rather – but either way, it was a sight of horror and explosive, impossibly lethal speed.

And worse, Mercer was getting faster and faster, evolving at terrifying pace ; even the cure had barely slowed him down. Where Greene and her Redlight strain were destructive while being stagnant, creating the same things over and over, the Blacklight virus was – to a military-trained man – something far worse. He was adaptable.

_Let’s hope he’ll be adaptable enough to lis…_

There was no noise, not even the scrap of claws on the ground or the snarl of most Hunters. The shadow fell on him : he threw himself to the side, shoulder twisting under him as he hit the granite at the wrong angle. The baton stabbed almost before he had ended on his back, striking blindly to at least slow his aggressor down.

The zap of electricity crackled and the face over Cross’ – a man’s, late twenties, blond and blue-eyed, too pretty for his own good – twisted to a pinkish hue. A row of yellow, pointed teeth flashed in a jaw wide and red. The hair was slipping out to a bald head, the lithe shape of the boy deforming to a grotesque parody.

Cross didn’t think. This wasn’t a runner, not a walker. Hell, considering the seize, he wasn’t even sure it was truly a Hunter.

This was deadly, and it had caught him completely unaware. This infected could have killed him already, which could mean only one thing : it wanted him alive. And the shape-shifting made it clear what the thing wanted exactly. If it was like Mercer… the Captain rose without the thing making a move to stop him. Certain he, human, couldn’t overpower him. And it was right. It would beat him, and it would devour him – and gain access to his face and his memories of Redcrown command, of the Blackwatch units. And worse, of the Bloodtox.

Cross bared his teeth.

And threw himself off the building.

**

He was jumping between a rooftop and gliding over the next two when he… saw it.

Or maybe sensed it. The feeling of threat – although he always was wary of Hunters around nests. Mercer shifted to infected view despite his throbbing head : the flash of white, enormous and blinding, made him airdash by instinct to the nearest roof. He crouched, scanning every corner of shadow and water tower, until he suddenly saw it in the deep red-orange tinge of infected vision.

The deformed, clear shape of a Hunter was silhouetted maybe six meters above him, raising a clawed hand… no, it was too big. An enormous form raising itself, far more impressive than even a Leader Hunter.

“The hell ?” Alex hissed.

He had reduced the Supreme Hunter to a fucking puddle, how…

And then there was a second form, rolling away from the creature to the very edge of the roof. Alex let his view go back to normal just in time to recognize the black uniform, the paler color of an unmasked face.

There was only one Blackwatch soldier who didn’t wear headgear.

And if goddamn Cross, of all people, was really his contact… Alex took a second to charge his jump – which was actually more of a mad dive to garb Cross. Because yes, it was fucking Robert Cross, damn him, who had just jumped off a fucking building. The exact same crazy son of a bitch that Mercer tossed over his shoulder as he whirled round mid air to hit the frontage of the next apartment block feet first.

He heard Cross grunt in pain with the impact, or maybe with Alex’s shoulder digging further into his sternum ; either way, he kicked back in an explosion of shards towards the rooftop on the other side of the street, barely touching the concrete before they were back in the air. Captain Cross had enough sense to not struggle, even if Mercer felt him move about, brushing the skin of Alex face as he reached into some thigh pocket.

Something black and round flew past his ear with a characteristic sharp snap of metal. The cold, raw light of electricity illuminated the night of his pale glow, and the Supreme Hunter shrieked a definitely offended note.

“Seriously ?”

“Seemed better than hanging stupidly all over you,” Cross muttered, then grunted again when Alex took another flying leap and landed without slowing down. “Can’t you rip him to shreds ? You’re pretty good at it most of the time.”

“Not when I have a human to _not kill_ two feet away,” Alex snarled. “I’d drop you at the nearest base, but I’m rather sure he wants your head on a claw as trophy.”

He expected either silence or a rebuke, but Cross snorted, the sound weirdly strangled considering his position.

“Wasn’t out to kill, or you’d have found my sorry ass chopped off in two,” the Captain managed to utter. (He groaned and shifted a little, possibly to not die of asphyxia or a broken rib cage through the lungs while Mercer dodged a water tower.) “He was trying… what you do with your preys. To consume me.”

**

Mercer paused a second, but either he wasn’t truly surprised or too smart to freeze in the middle of a chase. Cross would bet on the second, especially with the tendrils crawling up the legs he brushed with each running movement – it was like the man used his biomass to propel himself even more powerfully.

They swallowed several rooftops in one jump, but still the fucking infected was right on their ass. Cross thought of throwing his last electrical grenade – custom made a few days after his fight with Mercer, who was, surprisingly enough, more stunned by a high voltage than a missile – before reconsidering. The first one had done nothing except give them maybe two seconds. Not enough to shake off the infected.

And Mercer was actually slowing down : the body pressed against his had been hot, much hotter than a regular human, but now it cooled down brusquely as the man started to cough. Mercer spat a curse and veered off to a more equidistant building.

 _Easier to jump,_ realized Cross. _Which means easier to follow, too._

“Mercer, what… ?”

“You should know,” was the biting answer. “You’re the one who sent me headfirst into you little poisonous get together.”

Cross decided that it wasn’t worth denying, and even less in his situation. In a way, it made it easier between them. Flat ground. He had betrayed Randall, and sent Mercer into the trap. Both deliberate actions that he didn’t regret : a dead ZEUS would have been excellent news, and Cross wasn’t about to backpedal on it.

This was war.

And since Mercer hadn’t tossed him to his death yet, he must be equally aware of it.

Which, speaking of war and tactical decisions…

“Can you route back to the zone of the attack ?”

He could feel the brief tension in the back under him, a flash of black and red small, whipping biomass in the so called leather before it smoothed back down : Mercer didn’t answer but took a left sharp enough to make Cross’ vision blur. The minute of recuperation must have helped, because when he toke back to full run, his leap brought them over a little skyscraper and down to a dizzying nosedive.

The Captain swallowed the urge to throw up his stomach, his esophagus, and probably his lungs while he was at it, and tapped his earpiece.

“Rabid, I need you at the coordinate drop of earlier. ETA ten minutes. Coming in hot, hell of a Hunter clawing at my ass.” He paused, but he knew from experience that Faust was swift as fuck in shooting, and he’d prefer his helicopter not cut in two by an irked Mercer. “ZEUS is with me. Consider him an ally under truce.”

The last sentence, slightly over complicated, was a code proving there was no weapon to his head to call in his men. Although with Mercer in, it was a question of a weapon always here, ready at any second, more than the slow drawn of a pistol. Still, the code phrase was true, and there was an affirmative answer after a second of hesitation. The combat helicopter passed over them, sending a homing missile barreling into the Hunter on its way in.

“Tell him to stay up. At least eighty feet, or the Hunter will jump right through him.”

“Rabid, stay out of the way and keep firing. Up to eighty. We’ll… leap in. So no one starts shooting Mercer when he jumps at them.”

“… copy that,” finally acknowledged Rabid’s low voice.

Doubts or no, the pilot wasn’t elite for nothing : he slipped ahead immediately, then executed an almost full turn on himself to present them with the side door wide open. The compact form of Faust was here, too, black from head to toe except for the glinting blue of his night vision gear : he crouched for equilibrium, the long shape of the sniping rifle ready to fire on the slightest sign from Cross.

Mercer reacted about as quickly, taking an abrupt bend to the right : his arm closed on Cross back to the point of hurt as he joined an open straight line to the helicopter.

“Grenade,” he hissed.

Cross hummed his agreement, reaching in his thigh pocked just as the Hunter leaped from the other side of the street : he snapped the cap off, counted one second and tossed the grenade right to the pink, water glistening torso of the infected. It blew up literally under the fucker’s nose, sending it right back off the ledge, and the Captain grinned.

Above him, Mercer emitted a feral, amused sound.

And took off. The tendrils of biomass exploded over his jeans-clad legs, each run up pace leaving a cracked imprint in the concrete. Even the slim body seemed to grow larger for a second, the shoulder rippling with black-red, unnatural muscle ; then, with a terrible force, Mercer bounded.

The wind whistled past Cross’ ears, the familiar rotors of the assault helicopter before the white hand of Mercer was digging finger imprints in the metal of the cabin : he tossed the Captain in first, and slid inside in one fluid move, one feet caught on the floor, the other dangling out. The hand clinging to the roof and the arm attached to it writhed with red, aggressive tendrils of biomass.

Mercer kept carefully still while Rabid rose them higher and left the Hunter howling in rage on his rooftop, but he was ready to jump out the second they were past the danger zone.

Slowly, conscious that Mercer could tear the helicopter to shreds at the slightest provocation, Cross rose. His back started screaming vengeance at him : he would have one hell of a roof ledge shaped bruise, not to mention he’d probably piss blood for a few days considering how hard Mercer had squeezed him around the kidneys. Great.

“Faust, weapon down,” he ordered.

Mercer raised a rather snarky eyebrow at the gesture of goodwill and the black form of Faust irradiating resentment and wariness. Or maybe he was just amused at the idea of taking a bullet to the face altogether. Cross rose to his full height – fuck his fucking back, he’d deal later – and stepped close enough to Mercer that Faust was lost in the shadows behind him.

“Get in. You need a place to rest, and I need you to not end up Hunter food. And it’s high time we talked face-to-face.”

Half an hour later, Faust was standing guard in the corridor of an apartment hideout, and Coss was standing maybe two paces form the human-shaped deadliest virus to be ever created. And yet, strangely enough, it wasn’t Blacklight Cross found himself thinking about, but Mercer.

Alex Mercer, and the sharpness to him.

Not only of the lethal kind, this sense of danger and coiled strength. He had seen those before. In his own men, in himself : Blackwatch didn’t leave any place for weakness, not in spirit, and even less in body. They were the last line – the line that held when all the others fell, even if it meant burning the ground they held to fucking ashes. Blackwatch was about though choices, and Cross wasn’t afraid of though choices.

Choosing to side with Mercer, once and for all, was a choice. A dangerous one – a crazy one, in many ways – but the only sound choice considering the madness surrounding them. In between Randall and his nuke or a Blacklight virus remade in human shape, Alex Mercer was the lesser devil in a myriad of craziness, death and blood.

And, contrary to Randall, Mercer would fight for this town to the bitter end, and go down tearing everything left to ruin.

It was here, in the razor-sharp, too wide smile that came when he fought – Cross still remembered the surprise, the anger, and then the glint of too many teeth under pale, thin lips when they had faced off inside the nest. All of Mercer’s smiles had that ferocious quality to them. Ravenous. Predatory, like the cold gray of his eyes, almost feverish under the hood.

And like a predator, he’d chosen his territory.

A human shape, perhaps, but the hint of something deeper ran all the way to the surface if you knew to look for it. Even now, Mercer was standing at the very edge of the window. The quickest way to freedom, of course – when the twenty-six floor drop meant nothing to you. His slim form was deceptively relaxed while he looked to the red haze and destruction in between the vents. The chest under the black leather barely moved : so still, so intent his mimicry of breathing had slowed to something imperceptible.

Or maybe Mercer just didn’t give a shit anymore.

Maybe it was a silent dare to Cross’ face, for his “betrayal”.

“It was you or MOTHER,” the Captain said – not an apology, simply putting his reasoning out here, as matter of fact as the conclusion he had come to. “Since the Bloodtox wasn’t powerful enough to kill you upon inhaling it, the next target is Greene. But the poison works. You proved that. If we release it forcefully enough right under her nose...”

“And I can do what you can’t, is that it ? Make certain the counterattack from Greene doesn't blow the plan to you face ?”

He held Mercer’s eyes, refusing to back down under the ice-sharp stare : except for this utterly emotionless affirmation of Cross sending him in a death trap while on the run from the Hunter – Supreme Hunter, as he called it – Mercer hadn’t made a move to strike him or hurl reproach at the Captain for the Bloodtox. And he wouldn’t. Cross was his only ally.

The man watched him for a long second, then shrugged, the movement eerily human-like and all the more out of place for it.

“I will protect your toxin. Or I could.”

“What do you want ?”

Under the hood Cross saw very white teeth. The pallid complexion made the bags under Mercer’s eyes stand out even more, dark, eating his face almost to the bone of the eye sockets : escape or no, the Bloodtox had taken its toll. Naked, cold, _calculating_ suspicion and interest chased themselves on Mercer’s face, before leaving way to hunger : his long mouth seemed to distort like a colorless wound, too many teeth showing in his gaunt, livid appearance.

A ripple of black and red slithered over the nonchalantly wall-propped form, and then the man was up in one fluid movement, all trace of withering tendrils gone in an instant. Back to the breathing, calm, composed exterior.

Cross almost preferred when the virus exploded out of the shell. Mercer – or Blacklight – in combat was one thing, deadly and terrifying and thrilling in its own way, but enemy. This, too thin and hollow-eyed, he looked… sometimes, he looked strangely like what Cross saw in the mirror. Something that shouldn’t have found a conscience, and yet was standing here, because it needed to be done.

Fuck his life, it was almost funny. In the most morbid way possible.

“McMullen. Give me McMullen.”

**

Cross didn’t even pause.

“Deal. Eat him, rip him to pieces, I don’t care. But do it fast, and after it… you’re mine, Mercer. You want Raymond McMullen, fine. I want Greene in exchange.”

Alex tilted his head, but the Captain’s face was impassive : the fate of Gentek’s director was utterly non-existent to him. McMullen was a mean to an end in getting to Blackwatch’s one and only goal – destroy Green’s infection. And surprisingly enough, he agreed with that.

Mercer had wanted the truth. He got it, and now, he sure as hell would’ve rather forget it. He was a virus – there was nothing human in him. Vengeance had driven him, that and a shadow of strange affection for Mercer’s sister, but at the end, he always felt… empty. Like a void, clinging to his rage and the certainty that when he discovered the truth, he would be someone.

As he turned out, he was rather some _thing_.

And worst, he had barreled on to Elizabeth Greene with his confusion and anger, hoping… a being like him. Someone – again, ah ! – would could understand, explain. Someone who, like him, was a prisoner of Gentek and Blackwatch.

Alex had freed her.

The fact that she could have done it herself eons ago, that she was only binding her time, wasn’t of any comfort. He had rushed ahead, and literally ripped the door out on his way to the Gentek compound in his fury. It almost made him want to laugh out loud. The Blacklight virus, desperate to free MOTHER, the precedent strain of the same biological weapon. Who had said chivalry was dead ?

Still, in the end, it was undeniable : he was responsible of the infection. It was the reason Mercer had kept attacking nests alongside the military despite their hostility. The reason he tried to let the Marines or the Blackwatch be, unless they struck first. Barring escape, infiltration or the need to consume a prey to regulate his biomass after grievous wounds, Alex rarely tore through the military with no reason.

Not that it had prevented a few ravaged bases after a blunder in his quest of truth, but he had _tried_.

And no matter what he felt about Blackwatch on a personal level, Cross at least had proved his worth. His guts, first, by facing off against Alex without flinching despite the raw power difference ; and his strategic quick thinking, second, by playing him like a fiddle : a terribly well calculating psychological blow with the virus revelation, and then sending him to Redcrown command into the Bloodtox trap.

At best it killed him, at worst it tested the gaz. Two bird with one stone. Even now, the Captain was plain using him – the only difference being that Mercer was using him right back. Two monsters playing each other on the devastated chess board of the city.

_Fair enough, Cross. Let’s play, and for once, play without hide-and-seek._

“I’ll go out, see the Dr Ragland.”

The Doctor would tell him what the Bloodtox did, and how well he adapted. He had inhaled quite a lot, in between the reunion and the fight inside the base among the fumes, and while it had had a wrecked havoc on his powers – not to mention his breathing and pain levels – it had subsided in the night.

Alex had even managed to flee efficiently while dragging the not-so-light Cross over skyscrapers : not at the top of his capacities, sure, but he could do it.

He had no true memories of Mercer as the scientific genius he was renewed as – Alex Mercer of Gentek, the man who had modified the Redlight strain into the terrible, so much deadlier Blacklight version – but he had seen firsthand how well the virus adapted. To his body when he had contracted it, although he still didn’t know how ; then to the so-called cure, developing his powers even further.

And now, unless he was mistaken, to Bloodtox itself.

“Blackwatch has started spreading the gaz two hours ago, Mercer. North of the island is covered.”

So he’d have to go right through it to reach the morgue where Ragland hid from Gentek. Alex shrugged : it would be a good chance to test his theory, as well as necessity to be useful to Cross’s plan. He wasn’t going to kill anyone, either Greene or McMullen, by being forced to stay inside to escape the toxin.

Either he got over it, or they ended up fucked.

Cross tossed him something, and Alex reacted without thinking, snapping a whipfist around the object before it could cross the room to him : the Captain tensed, but made no move to dodge or strike at the barbed, pulsing tentacle two feet from his torso. Mercer slowly retracted his shifted arm toward him, leaving a little black object on his livid, too-smooth palm.

“Earpiece,” the man said with a definitive touch of amusement. “Keep me updated. I’ll do the same and let you know about the spread of Bloodtox.”

Mercer nodded, slipped the earpiece in and slid out the busted corridor. It took him half a second to spot a breach big enough to dive through. The gaz welcomed him, burning in his lungs, but this time it didn’t keep him form turning his jump in a sharp glide to the next roof. Not pleasant in any way, but it had became manageable.

Good.

Alex grinned to himself, and rushed north.

**

He was back two hours later, Rangland’s enthusiasm at “his marvelous adaptability” still ringing in his ears. And undeniably, the return path had been close to his normal speed : airdashes and twists and glides without interruptions, fluid like water. Well. Expect one-near miss with a strike team closing on an infected nest because of the red fumes of the gaz, but Cross didn’t need to know that.

The man had acknowledged the news with a tight grin of sinister satisfaction. No doubt he was already calculating how that added to the goal of burning Greene to a scrap of ashes.

“So you have an advantage Blackwatch doesn't know about with this growing immunity to Bloodtox, resumed the Captain, all business. I think the key to McMullen is this : attack the Bloodtox facility head-on, and let them think they have you. When they think they’re in control, they’ll bring you to McMullen.”

The hatred and hunger reared their ugly heads, but Alex stayed silent, and Cross raised an eyebrow at his non-reaction.

“That’s the part you’re supposed to be bloodthirsty about, Mercer.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he approached : Cross was a good head bigger than him, larger and much more powerful in built. A brute in appearance, helped by the scar on his upper lip, the strong jaw, the sharply backward slicked hair to show a brutal, no nonsense face.

And yet the Captain had bested him twice, both times because he had trusted the wrong person and exploded into action : only the Blacklight resilience – his resilience – had allowed him to survive both traps. He was headstrong and quick to act, undeniably. But he’d gotten his answers, finally, and he wasn’t about to do the same mistake a third time out of sheer stupidity – or sheer rage fit.

“Why are you here, Cross ? Turning on Blackwatch, you of all people ?”

“I’m not betraying Blackwatch,” spat the man, eyes flashing in anger. “I’m the only one in this fucking city who actually has the fucking guts to hold the line to the end !”

Mercer frowned. It was the most rattled he’d seen the Captain in any encounter since the start of their – admittedly brief – crossing paths. There was a second of silence, Cross maybe hoping he’d let it slide, but Alex had been the pawn and the betrayed too often to let Blackwatch, and this Blackwatch man out of all the others, counsel him while declining answers.

Their goals aligned, good. But not good enough.

“The only one”, he echoed. “Implying that the rest of Blackwatch does not hold the line. They let it fall ? They don’t believe in taking out Greene anymore ?”

Cross hissed one of the foulest curse Mercer had ever heard, but seemed to sense he wouldn’t budge : probably because he would have done exactly the same, equally wary of betrayal or missing information.

“Not truly. It’s a last ditch effort, but the higher-up are murmuring about operation Firebreak. Which sums up to the wonderful idea of a fucking nuke to the island to eradicate Greene – who, by the way, has retreated underground to boot.

Alex tilted his head, considering. He supposed he should have seen it coming : from the memories he had ripped out on his targets, Blackwatch hadn’t hesitated with Carnival II. Once it had become clear things were out of control in Hope, mass killing had become the main order : it had been possible with human military units in Idaho because the town was a secluded area, with barely a few hundreds of infected. On such a larger scale as Manhattan…

“You have the Bloodtox. And Greene is the queen inside the nest. If you take her out, the infected are yours, a snake without its head, in complete disarray. There’s no need to nuke the island. Blow up the nests, send missiles on the water towers and the Hunters, shot the rest of the walkers.”

“There is still a risk.”

Cross said it with something between fury and the darkest amusement lurking in his voice. Like it was a justification he’d heard dozen of times before. And he probably had, actually.

And yet he was here.

Like Mercer himself.

Maybe, considering the situation had ended at a such a level of fucked-up, this crazy alliance of their could be just enough. And either way… it was all they had left.

“Alright.”

Cross’ dark, wary eyes narrowed, and Mercer contained a smile. A very thin, very sharp smile, without one once of true humor.

“Alright ?”

“I’ll take out Greene for you.” (Cross watched him, silent, his powerful frame still – always – tense. Half-ready to snap in action like a feral, and very black, panther.) “Can you make sure I’ll have the occasion to do it without Blackwatch shooting at me all over the place ?”

Cross’ close-lipped smile passed over his hard face, here and gone like bitter quicksilver.

“Don’t be insulting, Mercer. I’ll get your pace, MOTHER’s head, and Randall’s afterwards if need be, to save this city.”

Alex propped a shoulder on the cracked wall, and shrugged, faux-nonchalantly, while watching the man holding the Blackwatch. He’d expected nothing less, not from the second they’d silently sealed on it. Despite the blood and mayhem they both had rained on it, Cross was right : Manhattan was their.

Their to defend, to the deadly end.

“Well, in that case… looks like you’re mine as well as I am yours, _Captain_.”


End file.
